


doctor, doctor, give me the news (i got a bad case of lovin' you)

by haleofStilesheart



Series: Tumblr Prompts [34]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Getting Together, Lunar Eclipse, M/M, Pining Derek, Sick Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleofStilesheart/pseuds/haleofStilesheart
Summary: “I just kissed your forehead, chill,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes as he plopped down in the comfy armchair by the other end of the couch, folding his legs to set his ankle on his knee. He picked his biochemistry book up from where he had set it on the floor, resting it on his thigh as he cracked it open, flipping through the pages until he found his desired page.But Derek could not chill. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Because Stiles had just kissed him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charlesdk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesdk/gifts).



> For the amazing Charlie, for the [Friends or More](https://hale-of-stiles-heart.tumblr.com/post/156135046620/friends-or-more-sentence-starters) prompt : 'I just kissed your forehead, chill'

“I just kissed your forehead, chill,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes as he plopped down in the comfy armchair by the other end of the couch, folding his legs to set his ankle on his knee. He picked his biochemistry book up from where he had set it on the floor, resting it on his thigh as he cracked it open, flipping through the pages until he found his desired page.

But Derek could not chill. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Because Stiles had just kissed him.

Yeah, sure, Stiles had a point, he had just kissed him on the forehead, but still! It was still a kiss! Regardless of where exactly it was!

The important part was that  _ Stiles _ had just  _ kissed _ him! How could he be expected to chill after that? It just wasn’t feasible.

He had been ass over elbows for the hyperactive, unbelievably intelligent, too-curious-for-his-own-good teen since the first time he had met him. At least, he had been unconsciously. It had taken him a little while to realize it and once he had, he immediately launched into a vigorous campaign of self-loathing and self-denial, reminding himself at every turn why his feelings were stupid and wrong and irrefutably unrequited.

For quite some time, a few years, in fact, Derek had downright hated himself for his attraction to Stiles, having sworn off love and romance and attraction years ago, once after Paige’s untimely death and again after the fire that had claimed the lives of almost his entire family. But then Stiles had waltzed into his life, trespassing in more than one way, and tossed all of his plans to live the rest of his miserable life alone right out the window

Over years of working together, even before they were officially pack members or even friends, and regularly saving each other’s lives, the initial spark of Derek’s interest had been stoked into a slow, constantly burning fire that resided somewhere deep in his heart. Now, every time he so much as saw Stiles — or heard his voice, or received a text from even, or even just remembered something about him ― a warmth radiated through his body that felt like a ray of sunshine coursing through every fiber of his being, rushing through every vein and capillary in his body.

Derek was pretty sure he was in love with him.

He loved the way Stiles never held back with anything he did in life, thrusting himself into whatever he chose to do, whether it be researching the most recent supernatural threat, or ferreting out as much information as he could about reports of hunters, to diving headfirst into his college courses or learning how to make all sorts of healthy foods to keep his dad’s heart healthy. He loved Stiles’ razor sharp wit, never at a loss for a snappy rejoinder or sarcastic remark, in spite of whether or not it was appropriate to be making such sardonic comments, or perhaps because of it.

He loved Stiles’ selflessness, at time disturbingly willing to lay down his life for those he cared about, leaping into harm’s way more times than Derek could, or at least more than he cared to, count. He loved the way that Stiles wasn’t afraid one bit to be himself, never paying any mind to those who sought to discourage him or put him down, growing more and more confident with each and every passing day.

Hell, it was useless to list everything he loved about Stiles because he loved everything about him.

Every nuance of his facial expressions ― the way he furrowed his brows when he was concentrating, the way his lips twisted up at the corner when he smirked, the way his temple twitched when he was angry. Every behavioral quirk ― the way he dotted his i’s, the way he chewed on the drawstrings of his hoodies and the sleeves of his obnoxious flannels, the way he hummed under his breath when he did the dishes or folded his laundry.

The only problem was that he didn’t love Derek.

Derek had, quite foolishly, convinced himself that he might actually have a chance with him when Stiles had officially made the announcement that he was bisexual, but the newly out teenager had never made any indication whatsoever that he had interest in him. That had been over a year and Derek had since given up all hope that Stiles might ever harbor any romantic feelings for him, resigning himself to a life of unrequited pining, sure that Stiles would never show him any ounce of affection that wasn’t purely platonic.

And then he went and kissed Derek like it was no big deal. Granted, it was only on the forehead and he had a valid, non-romantic, strictly platonic reason to do it.

With the moon tucked away in the shadow of the earth during a late autumn lunar eclipse, Derek was just about as human as Stiles was, leaving him vulnerable to all sorts of things like regular bullets without the wolfsbane and other types of weapons. Apparently, it also meant that he was able to contract human illnesses. Like the common cold.

The entire day he had felt like complete shit. His head felt ten times bigger than usual complete with an incessantly throbbing headache that hurt so bad his whole face ached, sinus pressure squeezing down on his brain. His nose was behaving erratically, one moment insufferably runny and the next unbearably stuffy, its mercurial nature shifting so often that he eventually just gave up and started carrying a box of tissues around wherever he went in the loft, even if it was just to the bathroom.

When the curious, unexplained symptoms had not abated within a few hours, he had given Stiles a call, figuring it was best to consult one of the only two humans in the pack when dealing with an acutely human condition. Besides, Stiles was the master of research, another point in his favor when Derek was trying to decide who to call, winning out over everyone else in the two seconds it took for the alpha to pick up his phone and dial Stiles’ number from memory. 

It had nothing to do with the fact that Derek wanted to hear Stiles’ voice. Nothing at all.

Barely two seconds after Derek had listed off all of his symptoms, Stiles had diagnosed him with the common cold, humming thoughtfully as he told Derek to get comfy on the couch and wait for him, volunteering to come over with some stuff. After thanking Stiles and hanging up, Derek took a seat on the couch in the main room of the loft, trying to watch some television to occupy himself until Stiles got there, but midway through a rerun of Dr. Phil his headache got much worse, making it damn near impossible to focus on anything, lying down and curling up a bit with his face buried in a couch cushion.

That was how Stiles found him when he let himself into the loft fifteen minutes later laden with heavy bags bearing the local pharmacy’s logo, a large aluminum thermos, and his bookbag, closing the heavy steel door with a wince when it slammed shut loudly. Derek whined at the sound, his head pulsating painfully as the metallic thud echoed throughout the loft, nuzzling his face deeper into the couch cushion as Stiles murmured an apology and tiptoed over to the coffee table where he set his bags down.

Laying a gentle hand on Derek’s shoulder, Stiles had very quietly asked if he could roll over onto his back, the usually stoic alpha letting out a petulant groan as he reluctantly turned over. He glared up blearily at Stiles with a childish pout on his lips, tempted to let out a growl despite his current human status, his sore throat the only thing that truly deterred him.

“How you feeling, big guy?” Stiles had asked softly, resting the back of his hand on Derek’s forehead, trying to see if he was warm or not, greeting Derek with a soft smile as he took a seat on the edge of the coffee table.

“Like shit,” Derek managed to croak out, his voice rough and gravelly as he spoke, a whine bleeding into it as he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t really see the point in mincing words, not when he was aching all over and half wishing for the sweet embrace of death, always a little less inhibited around Stiles anyhow.

“Yeah, well, that’s what being human feels like,” Stiles quipped, twisting to fish around in one of the bags from the pharmacy, rooting around until he grabbed a hold of something, tugging his hand out to brandish a bottle of blue Gatorade and a bottle of over the counter cold medicine. He popped the lid off the bottle of medicine, plucking a couple of pills out before closing the bottle, setting the pills aside as he twisted open the bottle of Gatorade. Standing back up, he leaned over Derek and inquired, “Think you can sit up a bit?”

Derek had begrudgingly complied, gratefully sipping the sports drink Stiles lifted up to his mouth, the Gatorade moistening his chapped lips and soothing the raw feeling in his throat as Stiles supported his head with a gentle hand on the back of his neck. After drinking a good portion of the Gatorade, he obediently swallowed the pills Stiles pressed to his bottom lip, only half listening as Stiles explained the importance of staying hydrated and taking the right medication, absently running his fingers through Derek’s slightly sweaty hair.

The medicine seemed to do the trick as his headache subsided enough for him to drift into a light sleep as Stiles did some homework in the armchair, occasionally making little sounds of triumphant low in his throat when he figured out a particularly tough equation. When Derek woke up a few hours later he found that Stiles had tucked a few pillows under his head and had tossed a blanket over him, keeping him warm in the cool loft while he slept.

Derek had opened his mouth to thank him when his stomach had let out a thunderous growl, his own body cutting him off in a plea of hungry, Stiles’ head snapping up when he heard the loud grumble from the couch. With a smirk, Stiles had needlessly asked if Derek was hungry, already pushing himself to his feet to make the short walk to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll put some soup on.”

Derek nodded to himself, willing to eat almost anything Stiles offered him, sinking back against the fluffy pillows Stiles had grabbed from off the bed by the wall of windows, along with the blanket. It was a nice heavy wool throw that Melissa had gotten him for his birthday back in September, nice and cozy and absolutely perfect for rainy days spent reading in bed while sipping a steaming cup of tea or a glass of red wine.

He smiled at the thought, realizing that he had never truly appreciated being virtually impervious to all known diseases and illnesses before, resolving to be more appreciative of his invulnerability in the future and more sensitive to humans’ woes. Before now he had never really understood why people became so miserable when they had colds or flus, never fully comprehending the magnitude of the symptoms until he experienced them himself.

Fifteen or so minutes later, Stiles returned to the living room with a tray of hot chicken noodle soup with whole grain rice instead of pasta noodles and a sleeve of low sodium saltine crackers, a chilled water bottle in his hand. He perched on the arm of the couch by Derek’s head, so close that Derek could tilt his head to the side a few scant centimeters and touch Stiles’ hip, and set the tray up in Derek’s lap.

He twisted open the bottle of water and set it down next to Derek’s hand, waiting for him to curl his fingers around it before standing back up, socked feet thumping against the polished concrete floor as he straightened up. Stiles turned to fuss with Derek’s covers, tugging the wool blanket higher up on him until it nearly covered his chin, leaning over to peck him on the forehead, shocking Derek into freezing stock still.

“Hmm…” Stiles hummed thoughtfully, adorable upturned nose scrunching up as he scratched the back of his head, his other hand on his cocked hip. With a firm nod and a glance at Derek’s face, he surmised, “Yeah, still pretty warm―” he flicked his eyes over to the bowl of soup in front of Derek “―C’mon, dude, eat up. It’s gonna get cold.”

Derek barely heard anything he said, too busy gaping at Stiles who was already immersed in solving a problem to calculate the dopamine error signal, scribbling away in his notebook as he chewed on his bottom lip while thinking about how best to solve the equation. All Derek could think about was the fact that  _ Stiles had just kissed him. _

Stiles must have noticed his not so subtle gawking because he raised his head to look at Derek, cocking his head to the side and muttering, “Dude, what? It didn’t mean anything. I was just checking your temperature, the pharmacy was out of thermometers.”

Derek was no longer hungry. He struggled to push himself up straighter, lifting the tray off his lap and unceremoniously plopping it on the coffee table, a bit of broth from the soup sloshing over the side of the ceramic bowl to trip onto the wood table. Sluggishly, still feeling sick, Derek crossed his arms over his chest and rolled over onto his side, hiding his face from Stiles as he grumbled under his breath, “Meant something to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut the second the words were out of his mouth, immediately regretting ever uttering them because now the cat was officially out of the bag, now Stiles knew. Eyes tightly closed, Derek pressed his face into the couch cushions, internally berating himself for being  _ so stupid _ , revealing a years-long secret in one second of rash indignation.

He had to force himself not to whine aloud when he heard the creak of the recliner as Stiles stood, followed by the tattoo of his feet on the concrete floor as he walked, Derek was sure of it, to the door. Stiles was going to walk right out of the loft, and out of Derek’s life for good, because the one time Derek decided to express his emotions instead of burying them deep down inside, he ruined everything.

It hurt. Much worse than all the times he had been slashed with claws or shot full of lead or impaled with metal pipes and poles and scores of other things. Because this wasn’t just some skin and muscle deep wound. No, it was as though someone had plucked up his already bruised, undeniably fragile heart and decided to throw it onto the ground and stomp on it. 

The footsteps steadily grew closer, Derek’s heart shattering more and more with every step he heard, the echo reverberating through the loft, the loft that would be forever too-empty when Stiles inevitably left. The same way it was always too-empty when Stiles wasn’t there to make it feel a little bit more like home, when Stiles wasn’t there to brighten it with his laughter and his smile, when Stiles wasn’t there to make him feel less alone.

Derek couldn’t help but flinch when Stiles took a seat on the edge of the couch by his hip, feeling the dip in the cushions as Stiles hesitantly laid a warm hand on his shoulder, goosebumps breaking out across Derek’s chilled skin. In a voice so soft it could barely be considered a whisper, Stiles tentatively murmured, “Derek? Can you turn over?―” a second of silence passed before he faintly tacked on “―Please?”

Derek didn’t want to. He didn’t want to look at him. He didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes. Didn’t want to see a forced smile on his lips. Didn’t want to hear Stiles let him down easy and explain that he didn’t feel the same way but hopefully they could still be friends. He didn’t want any of it. 

But he rolled over all the same. He had never been all that good at denying Stiles anything.

Derek shifted onto his back but he kept his eyes cast down, no longer caring if he looked like a sullen child or not, pretty sure he was about to get his heart irrevocably broken. It was bad enough that he would have to feel it, he didn’t want to have to watch it too.

“Y’know, Der, it’s kinda hard to kiss you at that angle. Mind sitting up a bit?” Stiles asked, a smile in his voice. Derek’s eyes snapped up to meet Stiles in shock and disbelief because there was no way that Stiles had just said that― Cocking his head to the side, Stiles reiterated his question, this time much more blunt as he inquired, “Can I kiss you, big guy?”

Derek couldn’t speak, all his attempts at formulating words resulting in him gaping up at Stiles like a fish flopping around on a riverbank, instead resorting to nodding furiously as he pushed himself up straighter, spine more vertical than a flagpole. He was fascinated by the deep red flush that had stolen to Stiles’ cheeks, so unlike the usually brash and headstrong teenager to blush, finding himself unable to look away from his endearingly blotchy face.

Derek watched, enraptured, as Stiles carefully leaned in towards him, moving a hand to the back of the couch to brace himself up as he inched closer, licking his lips as he did. Derek was riveted to the sight, fixated on the way Stiles’ plump bottom lip was suddenly glossy with a tantalizing bit of spit, which he realized didn’t sound all that tantalizing, but to him, it was more enticing that any promised land ever hailed as paradise.

When Stiles was a mere precious few inches away, his breath warm on Derek’s face and his shiny lips so close that Derek could practically taste them, something suddenly occurred to Derek, his hand shooting up to cover his mouth. Stiles, his eyes already gently closed in preparation for their long-awaited kiss, didn’t notice until his lips encountered something that clearly wasn’t a pair of lips, jerking his head back in surprise to look down at Derek questioningly.

“I’m sick,” Derek said simply, as though it was something horrible and disgusting, his eyes wide as he mumbled from behind his hand, words muffled slightly. Stiles tilted his head to the side as he explained, swallowing before pointing out, “And probably contagious.”

“Don’t worry,” Stiles instructed with a smile, leaning back in to kiss Derek. His lips gently rasped against Derek’s as he assured him, “You’re definitely worth getting sick over.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr [here](http://hale-of-stiles-heart.tumblr.com/)


End file.
